Have the goodness to give me a little glass of old cognac, and a

mouthful of cool fresh water, madame.”

Madame complied with a polite air.

“Marvellous cognac this, madame!”

It was the first time it had ever been so complimented, and

Madame Defarge knew enough of its antecedents to know better.

She said, however, that the cognac was flattered, and took up her

knitting. The visitor watched her fingers for a few moments, and

took the opportunity of observing the place in general.

“You knit with great skill, madame.”

“I am accustomed to it.”

“A pretty pattern too!”

“You think so?” said madame, looking at him with a smile.

“Decidedly. May one ask what it is for?”

“Pastime,” said madame, still looking at him with a smile, while

her fingers moved nimbly.

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“Not for use?”

“That depends. I may find a use for it one day. If I dowell,”

said madame, drawing a breath and nodding her head with a stern

kind of coquetry, “I’ll use it!”

It was remarkable; but, the taste of Saint Antoine seemed to be

decidedly opposed to a rose on the head-dress of Madame Defarge.

Two men had entered separately, and had been about to order

drink, when, catching sight of that novelty, they faltered, made a